Dear Mom, It's Harry
by massivefaildrive
Summary: Harry gets nostalgic one evening and decides to write a letter to his mother in heaven. Great is his surprise when he receives a reply.
1. Chapter 1

Harry's nose twitched

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my genius

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Harry's nose twitched. He was feeling sad for some reason – and when he felt sad, his nose always twitched. It was as if an ant had gotten into his nostrils and was tickling them from the inside. And even if he sneezed, the ant would stay there, stuck to his nostrils like the Giant Squid to its prey, and tickling them furiously. Or perhaps, it was his nose hair – it grew longer and longer every year, ever since he turned fifteen. It tickled the skin of his nostrils pretty often, too.

He was feeling nostalgic. Nostalgic wasn't the precise word, of course, as he couldn't feel nostalgic about something that never happened, but he thought that sad was all too ambiguous and thus termed his feeling as such. He felt like being tucked up in bed with a cup of hot cocoa and read to, by his mother, and then kissed good-night. That never happened in his life, ever, but he couldn't help but wish it did.

With a sigh, Harry James Potter stood up from his bed and, in a few quick steps in the confinement of his small cupboard-sized room, reached his writing desk. He sat in his old rickety chair, dug out a quill and a scruffy piece of paper out of the junk littering his workspace, and, licking the tip of his quill, wrote:

_Dear Mom,_

_How are you? How's the weather up there? I hope it's not raining, is it? In London, it always rains. Even on Sundays. For instance, last Sunday, I went to the fair with Ron – that's my best friend – and we had a bloody good time, but then it started to rain and we got wet and cold. But Ron said that it was fine, because some of the rain ended up in his mustard, and that made more of it – though it wasn't as concentrated – and so he had more mustard for his chips. _

_I myself am fine. Despite the rain, I'm perfectly healthy. My lengthy nose hairs annoy me sometimes, but my agoraphobia (that's fear of open spaces) is ameliorating. Doctor says I got it cos I lived in a cupboard during my entire childhood. He says wanting to live like one did in his childhood is a common symptom of the mid-life crisis. Is it strange that I might be getting it at twenty-five?_

_Mom, please reply soon. And give my love to Dad._

_Your loving son,_

_Harry J. Potter xoxoxoxoxo_

Harry reread his letter a few times, then stared at it stupidly for a few minutes before giving it a generous, sloppy kiss. He stood and opened the small window that was the only source of inartificial light in his cupboard. He looked outside, to the bleak London streets, the fading dim glare of streetlights in the violent rain, the Abbey's Gothic spirals glowing a stony beige in the distance. Cars passed below and people scurried like ants under broad black umbrellas, eager to get home in time for the evening sitcoms. The air smelled of minty summer and wet earth, and the generally receding light of the washed-out solar giant winked at him, it seemed, through the sheet of water.

The young man spat at the street languidly – what's the point of living so high up if you can't spit on the unaware heads below? – and, with yet another heartfelt sigh, tore up his letter and set it to the winds. He then disappeared under the covers, ready to fall asleep even though it was only about seven in the evening.

Great was his surprise when, in a few minutes, he received a gust of wind that banged open his window and carried to his very arms a grimy piece of paper with, it seemed, a reply written on it.


	2. Chapter 2

Though the reply arrived almost instantly after Harry had 'mailed' the letter to the wind, he only read it the next morning, a

Thanks to all that reviewed in the twenty minutes it took me to write the continuation!

Hope you like this chapter too!

x.x

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Though the reply arrived almost instantly after Harry had 'mailed' the letter to the wind, he only read it the next morning, as he fell asleep very quickly and wasn't easy to wake, especially by a light piece of paper settling on his body.

Said morning, Harry was awakened by something humming in his ears. He grumbled at first and buried his head under the covers, but the sound wouldn't stop. It was as if a thousand bees had found their way into his ears and were now confined there, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing angrily and flapping their tiny wings, and so scratching Harry's skin. He sat up then and beheld the window, as agape as his mouth was when he witnessed Hermione drunk and bellowing a Celine Dion ballad into the mike at a club on a dreary February Friday. He stood up, his feet flinching at the touch of cold that the floor held, and shut it quickly. Though he didn't want to admit it, Harry was almost certain why the bees had found his ears.

In a few minutes, Harry found himself at St. Mungo's, in the dainty hands of a busty nurse. She was wrapping a yellow-papered compress around one of his ears. Indeed, as Harry supposed, his ears caught cold due to the open window. Sometimes he wished he had hair in his ears rather than up his nose – this was one of those times.

He retrieved two crumpled pieces of paper out of his trousers pocket. One was evidently crumpled to begin with, but the second one only got crumpled after Harry stuffed it into his jeans. It was a very neat piece of paper, white and neatly lined, though the writing was rather spidery and hard to discern at times. Harry felt compelled to read this one first.

_Mr. Potter,_

_I regret to inform you that your mother is holidaying in Australia at the moment. She tells me that there is a good chance of catching a spotted kneazel there right now. She will not be returning for another week or so, but, as she heard from me that you wrote to her last night, she requested that I reply to your letter._

_The weather here is quite satisfactory, thank you. The cherry trees are in full bloom now and, even as I sit at my desk in the small parlour, blossoming sakura branches obstruct my view out of the window. Normally, the Baikal is visible, as well as the Ural mountains, but now the flowers cover everything. _

_It does rain, here in Eden. If it didn't, we wouldn't be able to collect our cherry crop, as cherries need a lot of water to grow. It usually rains earlier in the spring, however, usually in the month of March. Also, we get some July showers. But yes, London is horrible in the respect that it's always gloomy there. Lily remembers how she tried to grow lilies on her balcony once. They all died within two weeks. Here, we have an extensive crop of lilies, too._

_I'm doing quite well, thank you. I regret to say that, although I don't grow any pestering nose hairs, the hair on my head is just as greasy as it was, and I'm still sulky and pallid. It's a good thing, then, that we don't get much company out here in the remote wilderness, though sometimes my dear friend Remus comes around and we play wizard chess by the fire. I sent him a nice crate of cherries after last year's harvest – would you like some too? He sometimes brings Sirius along, and he brings Bellatrix and she brings Regulus and Rabastan, and they grab old Abraxus Malfoy, who's still here in heaven for his sins, poor man, and we all have a nice little party. _

_It's really very unfortunate, Mr. Potter, that you have a phobia. I have a phobia too. I'm afraid of your mother. I honestly don't know why I thought her a blushing little flower when I was younger and more corporeal – she's a very serious woman, I tell you. Only last week, when I and Remus went fishing, she grounded me for a week – and only because I ripped a hole in my trousers. I had to sow it up, too, which is so degrading for a man. Lily's the best magical creature tamer in all of Eden. She tamed the kelpie that we keep for sowing the fields. Also, all the gargoyles on the church pier are her work. Now she's in Australia, taming kneazles, but I've already told you that._

_Tell me, Mr. Potter, how are you living bastards doing? It's so hard to keep up with news when you're located so high in the sky that you'll never get enough money to pay the delivery fees for your earthly newspapers._

_Sincerely,_

_Reverend Severus Snape_

_P.S. you couldn't send some soap, could you? It's bloody hard to find it here._

Harry shrugged. Ever since The Quibbler published an article discussing his and Draco Malfoy's potential for mating and a happy married life, nothing surprised him. But that Professor Snape would be living amidst a cherry orchard, keeping a kelpie, chumming around with Remus and Sirius and Lily, and, what more, being religious – that was otherworldly! Of course, that he should care enough to reply to his letter was also strange…

Harry opened the second paper:

_Hello! This is Lily Snape, or Lily Potter if you just fell off the Earth, ha-ha! I'm having a lovely time in Australia now, and so won't be able to return your call. If I think it's important, though, ha-ha, I'll tell Severus to reply for me! TOODLES!_

Harry bowed his head, which caused the nurse to chuckle indignantly as she straightened him up again and told him, in a firm commander-like voice, to stay put or she'll tape the compress to his mouth. He nodded. She snapped at him, as that was exactly what he wasn't supposed to do. He nodded again. The amazement was just settling in.


	3. Chapter 3

Upon arriving home again, Harry immediately scuttled to his desk, took out a quill and paper and began to write

Upon arriving home again, Harry immediately scuttled to his desk, took out a quill and paper and began to write.

_Revered Prof. Snape (I can't get used to you being Reverend, sorry),_

_It's a pity that Mom can't reply to me herself, but I'm happy that she's having a good time. Send her my love, please._

_We here are having hard times, hard times. I still can't forgive myself for Dumbledore's Army – had I not thought of it that fateful year, I might've had a job now. Voldemort's been defeated, I'm glad to tell you, and now everything is sugar and spice again. Almost our entire year has gone on to become Aurors. Even Hermione did, though now she's an avid campaigner for house elf rights – even batshit craziness pays off better than aurorisms do. Shaklebolt, dirty old cat, says he doesn't need as many Aurors, as there's nothing to defend the wizard population from, except the Aurors themselves, it seems._

_A year ago, I was cheated out of a job by non other than the snake Blaise Zabini – who now quotes you regularly, Professor. Ron, on the other hand, fell out of order ages ago for being an irresponsible worker and all that. Personally, I think it's because he was coming onto his boss – she was a pretty girl – and Hermione didn't like that, so she employed her amazing skills and got him fired. Since then, I and Ron have been living off her money – Ginny, ungrateful cow, married that snake Blaise Zabini – and going to gigs and all that. The other Aurors have taken to highway robbery and small boycotts and public demonstrations. Some have even gone into the theater. We've seen Parvati Patil and Seamus Finnigan doing Romeo and Juliet just recently – I enclose the programme for your perusal, along with a bar of soap. It's amazing – do you really have no soap in Heaven?_

_Is Mom really that scary? That's really weird. Somehow I never thought of her being scary. But that's only because she'd never be scary to me, I suppose. Does Sirius really come around sometimes? Tell him he's an awful bastard – leaving me to fend for myself like that! Tell Remus that his son is doing fine. But I suppose he knows that, old fruit. _

_Please do send some cherries. I don't get anything but fish and chips here._

_Your affectionate student,_

_Harry J. Potter xoxoxoxo_

He stood up and opened the window, his face convulsing as a powerful gust of wind hit it squarely in the middle. He ripped up the letter once again and set it to the wind and watched it for a long time as the scraps cavorted, unfurling, in the smoky London atmosphere until they disappeared completely in the gray masses of sky. He reached into his pocket and took out a large bar of lavender-smelling soap, carved 'Rev. Severus Snape' into the block and cast it out the window after the letter.

Needless to say, the soap fell to the ground. It would've probably broken to pieces if not for a bit of luck – its fall was broken by a head in a large top hat.

The gentleman passing under the window shrieked as a large piece of lavender soap landed on him with a thud and skipped over his pine to reach the ground. He swore loudly and beat his fist at the sky, searching, his eyes livid, for the miscreant that had dropped the soap. Harry giggled immaturely and shut the window.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, as expected, a reply arrived, this time neatly packaged in a brown Manila envelope

The next morning, as expected, a reply arrived, this time neatly packaged in a brown Manila envelope. Harry pushed away a platter of fish and chips and tore it apart.

_Dear Harry,_

_This is Remus Lupin. You remember me? Of course you do. Harry, I'm sorry, but I've been instructed to reply to you this time, as Severus has gone out to sow his potato fields. He says he can't wait a moment, lest the rain come earlier than expected._

_Harry, forgive me for being awfully rude and not enquiring after your weather, but I really have something of utmost urgency to tell. Harry, I think we've all gone mad. I mean, completely mad. Did Severus tell you about his life in his previous letters? It doesn't much sound like him, does it? Well, he looks like himself, I'll grant you that, but, I swear – if you see him dancing the polka with Bellatrix, who, by the way, is crazier than she ever was, you'll think it's either you that's gone batty or it's a trick of the light. Thought so myself when I arrived. Considering the fact that on Earth, he was ready to physically _eat_ me whenever we met, bones and skin and all, I was a bit shocked when we hit it off like we were age-old chums. _

_I wouldn't have believed myself if the same didn't happen to Nymphadora. She never was _quite_ right in the head initially, I'll grant you that, but here, she's absolutely unrecognizable! She's not a stranger to a choleric temperament, but now she's so happy she could fly! This monstrously fatalistic optimism is killing me, suffocating me under its robust folds, I swear on my werewolf form, which is the only thing even remotely evil in this bloody utopia._

_Here's a thing that will humour you, Harry: d'you remember Tom Riddle junior? Of course you do. Well, he's taken up government service. And, I don't know whether it's the irony of life or his own singular sense of humour, but he became a tax collector. You know, one of those Jims in a strict suit, that looks a bit like Adolf with the moustache and all, that come 'round to your house and go 'hmm, may I be entitled to an audience with Mr. whatsisname – Lupin, please...' and snoop you over like hound dogs looking for foxes when you come out, and then tell you you've not paid __£0.02 for your bills – and for some reason, the tax person's telling you that. Regardless, that's what Voldemort's doing now. Funny thing is, in heaven, we don't have taxes, because they're on the list of '10 Things Evil'. So, what's he doing collecting taxes that don't exist? I don't know._

_Harry, I don't know, but all of this is as mad as the March hare. You're the only thread that leads me to sanity, Harry – don't leave me! I want out of here._

_Sincerely,_

_Your good friend and teacher, Remus Lupin_

_P.S. don't tell anyone I wrote about this._

Harry smirked, then chuckled. Soon, his short snorts exploded into wild, insane laughter that rang out of the open window and ricocheted off the walls of narrow London alleys. Pigeons at Trafalgar Square soared into the air in a flurry of wings and bullfrog-like croaks and the great stone lions, it seemed, shifted their marble ears at the sound. A tray of antique crystal goblets shattered somewhere in a Chelsea antiquities auction. The waters of the Thames bubbled and spring apple blossoms quivered tersely on branches of lonely trees. Of course, it would be absurd to suppose that all this could've occurred out of just one laugh.

The young man shoved the letter into one of the messes on his writing desk and reclined on the chair, thinking. He already knew that the first thing he would write in reply to his friend is a description of his own life – if Lupin thought that things were crazy in heaven, he would certainly like to take a look at how things were in real life.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you to all who've reviewd, and all those that have added this story to their favourites lists and their alert lists

Thank you to all who've reviewd, and all those that have added this story to their favourites lists and their alert lists! I do appreciate all of you – if not for you, I wouldn't be half as eager to continue this.

P.S. I'm still looking for someone to **beta read** for me, so if you don't mind catching my 'americanisms' and random rambles before they go out into the public, give me a honk – I'll be as grateful as sweaty socks after a wash!

P.P.S. Forgive my possibly erratic description of a Chelsea street – I've not visited London for God knows how long.

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For writing his next reply Hermione selected a small cafe situated just off King's Road. From his vantage point out of a second-storey window, she viewed quaint curtained windows of white-washed town houses, bicycles chained to trees growing in cots, a news stall selling the ridiculously overpriced Daily Telegraph that no one outside of Chelsea ever read, and the window of an Oxfam shop where she bought her checkered scarf just moments ago. The weather was fine; drops of sunlight invaded the street occasionally, whenever the clouds above parted, and the pavements were starting to dry up after yet another drizzle.

She took a sip of Earl Gray and a bite of cold croissant. People around him were too polite to stare, but they still snuck hurried glances at the frizzy-haired girl in the graying sweater with the old-fashioned quill. She looked like the artistic type.

Said girl brought the quill closer to her eyes, then dipped it in her tea. Such an unhygienic practice caused some of the patrons to cringe, but they remained politely silent. Hermione, however, went along unheeding and, upon licking her quill, set it to the paper.

_Sunday, __12 April_

_Dear Prof. Lupin,_

_How nice to finally hear from you. Though Professor Snape is a decent correspondent, he lacks a sense of humour. _

_It's disturbing, what you related in your letter, but not unexpected. I always thought that one of the effects of such a long-lasting war would be the mental deterioration of those involved. I'm surprised that we younger participants haven't succumbed to the illness – though Harry's completely off his rocker, as I and his two therapists would say – but also completely befuddled at your healthiness, too. It must be very difficult to survive sane when your society is completely batshit crazy._

_I daresay, ever since the commencement of this strange correspondence, Harry's been avoiding us. I assume your letter reached him on Friday? I assume correctly. Well, he came barging in on our door only two hours ago, eyes as wide as saucers and mouth agape. Ron, of course, was as useful as a rodent playing dead, but I sat him down and gave him a cup of tea – my tea is excellent, not like this Chelsea tripe – and he told me everything. It seems that after reading your letter, which was, by the way, very well-versed, he began to contemplate the insanity of his own world, and that frightened him to near-death. He asked me to reply to you, as he was too fluttered to even hold a quill. At first I was afraid that he had epistolophobia – fear of correspondence – but upon examining him, I can rightly say that that's not so._

_However, whatever you think, Professor, you mustn't blame Harry for this – he had a very hard, overly eventful life ever since the fall of Voldemort:_

_Upon finishing off the Dark Lord, Harry was more eager than ever to become an Auror. He even convinced Ron to do the same. Of course, I couldn't stand between two men and their dream, so I came quietly. I believe they were going to drag Neville off too, but he stood firm for once in his life and professed his love for the profession of herbologist. I am very proud of him. So, naturally, they both were extremely good – so was the remaining majority of the '97 grad class. They all completed their training with top marks, especially Harry, and went on to become valiant protectors of wizardkind. Their valiance was short-lived, however, as Shacklebolt introduced one of his half-witted governmental reforms and thus sacked half the Aurors we had. At the time, we were shocked that Harry was told to go along with the others. _

_The first thing I did was to influence him to apply for a job in other Ministries – the French, the Italians, the Germans, the Americans, even – but not only did he not know the language, I found that governments worldwide were reluctant to have a wizard hero as their agent. They said that he wasn't as low-profile as they wanted him. Personally, I think they're afraid that he'll find out their obvious incompetence and dishonesty and will attempt to set them right – which he'll do, I'm sure. In essence, our governments are a horrible thing – should I send you my pamphlet on George Orwell and his lack of influence on the wizard community? Basically, I gave up trying to cart dear Harry off somewhere._

_Ron, of course, was a lousy Auror to start off with, and not an Auror at all when Harry wasn't nearby, so I didn't attempt to shove him anywhere. We married regardless – I couldn't bear disappointing dear Mrs. Weasley, after all she's been through, besides, he's a sweet boy – and got a house in Spinner's End. I now know why Professor Snape's family lived there – the rent is _ridiculously_ cheap, even in our times. By the way, there's a girl now living at his address, and though she's a muggle, I've seen her talk to frogs. I think she might be yet another witch distantly related to Salazar Slytherin. I shall investigate this further._

_I have the means to, for I am currently employed in the Dept. of Mysteries. I don't know whoever said that competence in a woman is useless, for my colleagues found me useful enough to keep me, despite my decidedly non-low profile history. Regardless, I have access to all personal records, and whilst that isn't a benefit all by itself, it certainly provides an excellent diversion on the many nights I spend working with department accounts. I already found out that Lily Evans had one pureblood squib in her ancestry – tell her that, from me. _

_Now, I'm distracting myself from my story. Upon being sacked, Harry came into a bit of a rut, so to speak. He isn't, of course, at all poor, but lives like a completely poor man. It's understandable in mine and Ron's case to be buying things at country flea markets and working all night to make ends meet, but in his? Of course, he doesn't work – he spends all his days either playing at the fair with Ron or sulking in his cupboard of a room. I've only been there once, but I wouldn't go again – it's as small as a toilet cubicle and reeks so badly of chip grease and old mustard that I get my allergies all het up even if I'm standing outside the door. As soon as Harry got depressed, Ginny dropped him like a hot potato and went off with one of the remaining Auror chaps. I hear she plays for a Quidditch team – that's turned Harry off Quidditch completely. I've been over to talk to her, of course, and she says that she still loves him and all that sappy nonsense, but she does admit something about the unreliability of a sensitive man, which is all perfectly understandable in these uncertain times. _

_Though he's somewhat over his bluest period, Harry's still very sad. His doctors tell me, and I notice it too, that his correspondence with all of you has considerably raised his spirits. For that I am grateful. I only wish that we could arrange some sort of get-together – you wouldn't know if you're allowed on Earth or if we're allowed up there for an evening? I think Harry would be most gratified if he could meet all of you in person. I think he misses his parents very much, and Dumbledore, and Snape. He's been yearning to tell all of you something ever since your… departure – I don't know if he still wants to, but I'm sure he will if you meet._

_Harry's life is very desolate. He sometimes tells people that it's very hectic – but don't believe him. I try to get him and Ron to do something constructive once in a while, but it doesn't ever end up as anything decent. I even tried to get them into my pro-house elf freedom campaign, but they seemed reluctant to go around places frequented by wizards in their undergarments and bellow out slogans. It's a pity, really – Harry can be very influential when he wants to be._

_Best wishes,_

_Hermione J. Granger-Weasley, S.P.E.W. fund_

Hermione looked around warily. Her eyes darted round the quiet room, only half-full, now that lunch break ended. Biting her lip tentatively, she folded her letter into four parts and, upon opening her window a tiny crack, ripped them up onto the streets.

The customers stared, eyes wide, as she did so, and went back to their teas as soon as she turned back to the room. Strange they are, these artistic types…


End file.
